Stocking up on Obsession
by Danny Phantom SG-1
Summary: Ryan's POV.  Ryan looks at his obsession with hats in the light of a hard time fighting a disease in his past and the ramifications of his friends taking him for granted.


**A/N: This was written by a friend for my birthday. The plot is all hers. However, any grammatical or spelling errors are the fault of me, DPSG1, because I edited/proofread it. If you've got a bone to pick, pick it with me, not her. :) **

Truth be told, my obsession was all Shar's fault, but I'm the only one who remembers that.

Just like I'm the only one who remembers that I'm truly lucky to be alive. Everyone sort of takes Ryan Evans for granted. And nobody really has an excuse to, except Gabriella. She wasn't here in fifth grade.

You may be wondering what I'm talking about. This is the story about Ryan Evans that is lost from the minds of my friends but that remains as vivid to me now as it was six years ago.

My fifth grade year started like every other one; I went to school, tagged along with my twin sister, Sharpay, and sang and danced my heart out in the winter musicale. That's when weird things started happening to me.

I've never been a terrible student in school, but never a great one either. My dyslexia pulled down my grades in Reading which in turn pulled down my whole GPA. Beyond that my grade-cards held all (or nearly all) A's and B's.

My time of tranquility ended when I began falling asleep during class. I was constantly exhausted to the point that I had trouble playing baseball with my little league team and even became winded while dancing with Shar.

Teachers apparently don't like sleeping students, so I was sent to the principal's office more times in two weeks than I had in all my previous school days.

Other things started happening, too. Like the night when I brushed my teeth and the brush became covered in blood. Or the time Chad gave me a friendly punch on the arm and, within minutes, a bruise the size of a grapefruit appeared. At night when I tried to sleep I either couldn't stop shaking or I would sweat like crazy. I practically stopped eating because food made me queasy, and so I lost tons of weight.

Finally, the teachers stopped sending me to the principal's office and upgraded my pass to a one-way trip to the nurses' office. After two or three visits, the nurse called in my parents and recommended I be taken to the hospital to have some blood-work done.

As terrifying as the trip to the hospital was, the news we received was even worse. Within a week I was diagnosed with Leukemia.

As an 11-year-old faced with death I was instantly put in a different land than that in which my peers lived. They spent their days wondering what their moms were cooking for dinner or buying new videogames. I spent my days wondering what it was like to die. Would Shar be sad if I was gone, and would I live to see my next birthday or would Shar blow out the candles by herself?

Most of my "friends," or rather acquaintances, didn't know what to say to me, so mostly they didn't say anything at all. I was shunned by my classmates … or at least, most of them.

Kelsi was even shyer than she is now, but she'd always smile and ask how I was doing. Maybe that's why Shar pays more attention to Kelsi over the rest of the East High student body. Shar surprisingly does remember when people treat me nicely, though she has trouble showing she appreciates it. Kelsi's kindness to me was the main reason Shar suggested Kelsi as our new Lava Springs pianist over the summer.

Troy and Chad still said "hi," but, like usual, that was all they said. Zeke once brought me some cookies "his mom" made, and Jason sometimes smiled at me in the hall. Taylor once asked if I was okay. I, of course, answered with a "yep."

Through the rejection of my other classmates, Shar was always there. At night when I'd lay awake crying, wondering if I would die, Shar would creep in and cry right along with me. Despite appearances, Shar can be quite sympathetic when she wants to be. Her biggest problem is that she has never been able to get her emotions into words, but her actions spoke louder than any words to me.

As a showman, the thing that hurt most to my 11-year-old pride was the loss of my hair. I would take a shower and then watch as my hair would float down to clog up the drain. When I came out I would stumble into the hall running my fingers over my quickly balding head. Even the chemo and radiation, with the nausea that came hand-in-hand, could be taken with a deep breath and a smile, but the loss of my hair was too much to handle.

That's when my sister gave me something that changed the course of my life.

Shar gave me a hat. It was a simple, navy beret, but I loved it more than I loved anything I had been given before. That hat gave me a sense of style that I felt adequately replaced the loss of my hair.

Over the next months, Shar and I would pick out a new hat after each treatment I had. I would try them on and we'd both laugh when I'd put on a punk, skater hat or a cowboy hat. Some of my favorite hats were bought that spring, and I loved every one of them.

Despite the fun times and the hope that buying hats gave me, my body was slowly giving up. From missing only a day of school per month, I began missing weeks. I was finally admitted into the hospital, where the doctor anticipated that I would only live weeks more.

Despite some of the kids' flippant to down-right mean attitudes at school, apparently my imminent death shook some of the students, especially Kelsi. She visited me some days after school, showing me music she was writing and playing on the little keyboard she brought along. I always had fun when she came, and loved hearing her quiet voice talk about the musicals she wanted to write.

But as much as I loved the times spent with Kelsi, it was Shar who kept me grounded. Even when Mom or Dad, "couldn't make it" to the hospital because of meetings, Shar always showed up exactly 14 minutes after school let out. She always apologized for being late because of traffic, but her trip time from school to the hospital never varied. Mr. Fulton once joked to me that, "we have very consistent traffic."

Shar would sometimes sing and dance for me. I loved to listen to her beautiful voice stretching through the hospital room and dispelling whatever moods in which I had been enveloped. By that point in my illness, every movement caused me pain and my mind was filled with thoughts of death, but Shar wouldn't let me dwell on those thoughts. She always said something wacky and sweet and pulled me back to that moment.

And finally Shar gave me the gift of life. Through some tests, we discovered that she was a match for a bone marrow transplant. Initially the doctors thought the surgery would be impossible, yet they tried it as a last option with the best results anyone could have hoped for. The marrow took, and I regained strength as the cancer was pushed into remission.

By the next winter musicale, I had enough energy to star with Shar; singing in it with as much heart as before I had fallen ill. I even received my first standing ovation when our director announced that I had recently won a hard-fought battle against Leukemia, Shar all the while standing beaming at me with tears in her eyes. Never before had her eyes shone so brightly as they looked at me, and even the fact that my parents hadn't shown up couldn't diminish my happiness.

So started my obsession; it was all Shar's fault. So started my servitude to Sharpay; nothing's good enough for the sister who saved my life. So started my outcast position among my peers; people avoid you when you're sick. And so ended my time of being remembered and loved by my family and friends; when you're not dying, no one cares.

My biggest problem is I now wonder if I should show them my new bruises and my bloody toothbrush. Or perhaps I should just stock up on berets and hope I'm not really taken for granted, not by Shar or Kelsi, Troy or Chad, Taylor or Gabriella, Zeke or Jason. If I am, maybe I have no reason to be saved. Not this time.

**Well, it made me cry. Let us know what you think. Compliments or criticism, we accept it all with open minds, as we do seek to improve our writing. Thank you.**


End file.
